


Donna

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Series: Where Do I Go? FicVerse -- Side Stories [2]
Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Identity Issues, M/M, Promiscuity, Recreational Drug Use, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-12
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since George met Woof. Those two years have changed him dramatically, but he still isn't ready to give up being the man his parents want him to be. Unfortunately for him... that isn't always a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah! Edited and posted. ^_^ Part two to come sometime this weekend, maybe Monday. Going to be a little hectic around here. :-P Hope you like!
> 
>  **Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
>  **Pairing:** *sweatdrop* All over the place. Berger x Woof, Berger x Jeanie, Berger + Sheila. *chuckles* Berger was gettin' around this fic... ^_^  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** 8,640  
>  **Warnings:** Slash. ^_^ Got the gen out of my system with the last fic. ^_^
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _June 12, 2010:_** Yeah... that sure took me long enough, didn't it? Writing has not been going well the last few weeks. *sigh* Fortunately, that seems to be over. ^_^ 3200 words yesterday, 2100 words this morning... It's been a good weekend. ^_^ Enjoy!
> 
> And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

  
**Donna**   
_by[Renee-chan](mailto:chibi1723@hotmail.com)_   


"And another one bites the dust, eh?"

Woof turned his head sideways to regard his friend as he spoke. George had changed since that day two years ago when they'd met. He'd gotten rougher, wilder, far more impulsive. And Woof was honest enough with himself to admit that he wasn't always sure he liked the changes. He missed the almost wide-eyed innocence that his friend had had when they first met. In a way, he'd been Woof's guardian angel, an untouchable saint. He missed that steady surety of his friend's support... the certainty that George could protect him, provide for him. Oh, he still took care of Woof, made sure he had enough to eat, kept him company in whatever park he had chosen to call home that week, but it was different, now. These days, more often than not, George needed a fair amount of looking after, himself. It was as though he'd fragmented into pieces and was no longer strong enough to hold all those pieces together. So, he just let them go to fall where they would, like he didn't care. Woof worried that he might even be losing a few along the way. He seemed to lose touch with reality sometimes and keeping him grounded was becoming a full-time task, one that Woof wasn't sure he was up to. For his friend's sake, though, he did the best he knew how.

George smiled from the rock he was sprawled out on and reached out a hand to tug playfully at the strands of Woof's hair, "School year, Woof. The school year. Done. Finito. Fait accompli." Cackling softly, he added, "No more school, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks, man. Even passed all my classes. No summer school. I'm free and clear until September."

Woof smiled, ducking his head sheepishly, "Oh." Unspoken was the fact that George's passing shouldn't have even been in question. Jesus... he'd been an honor roll student when they met. Now... In the privacy of his own mind, Woof wondered at how far the mighty had fallen and how quickly.

George just laughed again as he rolled himself back upright and pulled the older boy's face close to his to plant a kiss on his forehead, "I'm all yours for the summer, man." Smiling wickedly and wagging his eyebrows, he said, "So, whatever shall we do with all that time?"

When Woof ducked his head again, George just smiled sadly. The younger boy tucked a finger under the elder's chin to force his gaze back up and, for just a moment as their eyes met, Woof caught a glimpse of the boy he'd met two years ago in that gaze -- the strong one who could take care of everything, the one who worried... the one who cared. Quietly, that boy asked, "Seriously, man. If you could pick one thing you could do this summer, what would it be?"

Meeting that look for so long was already more than Woof could handle and he ducked his eyes again, muttering, "It doesn't matter. You... you should ask one of the others. Maybe Jeanie? Jeanie always has good ideas. Or Hud. He always knows what to do. They would be better."

George's lips pulled down into the frown he wore on those few occasions when he actually made the effort to gather a few of the pieces of himself back together. Woof fretted as he saw it. George would do his best, would rein the pieces back in for him, for today, for this week, who knew? But in the end it would just fragment him further. He'd probably lose it for days after this. But Woof wouldn't waste it... not when he was so selfishly glad to see it, not when he missed this side of his friend so very badly, not when he was the only one George made the effort for anymore. George grabbed his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake, "Neil, I'm not asking Jeanie or Hud or any of the others. I'm asking you. Today, I'm here for you, OK? Like old times."

That earnest plea capped off with his given name was the final straw. Woof never could deny his friend anything he truly wanted. And when what he wanted was Woof, himself? Yeah. He didn't stand a chance. Like a lovesick schoolgirl. Finally giving in to the inevitable, Woof said, "Well... I've always wondered about the ocean..." At George's incredulous look, he explained, "Well, you talk about it all the time -- how big and blue it is. And sand! I've never really seen sand except in a sandbox..."

George held up a hand to put a stop to what looked to turn into an impressive spate of babbling, "Wait a minute. Woof... you've never been to the beach? You live on an island, for Christ's sake!"

Face heating, Woof ducked his head again, unable to answer. He'd known it was stupid even when he opened his mouth. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

As though sensing the direction Neil's thoughts had turned, George placed another gentle kiss on his friend's brow, "Hey, man, lighten up. It's not dumb or anything. I was just surprised, is all. You want to go to the beach? We'll go to the beach." Smile stretching from ear to ear, he slapped Woof on the back, "Hell, we'll be just like a pair of normal kids! That's what they do, right? School's out, they hit the beaches to catch waves and ogle the chicks in their swimsuits, right?"

Woof shrugged, having no more idea than George did what "normal" kids did once school let out, but willing to go along with whatever his friend wanted, especially now that George was getting into the spirit of the idea, "We'll catch the ferry back over, spend the day at the beach, then sleep out under the boardwalk! Sounds kinda romantic, doesn't it?"

Woof had to confess that it did. Really, he'd never thought of other men that way before meeting George. To be fair, though, he didn't think George had really though of other men that way, either, until meeting him. But neither could resist the pull they felt towards each other, like the giant hand of fate had been guiding them both to look beyond their boundaries to find something great. And it was... great. But Woof knew something the other boy didn't: that George wasn't his to keep. That great hand was at work, even now, stirring the pot. He could feel it. But, like always, he let himself get swept along, trusting that it would all turn out well in the end. The alternative was unthinkable.

  


* * *

George looked over to the right and couldn't help the small smile that crept across his face. Woof was like a little kid in so many ways, this was just another to add to the list. He was crouched down on the floor of the ferry, clutching the railing and leaning his head through the bars to look down at the water, his expression full of awe and excitement. Such a small thing, really, the excitement of a ferry ride. It was something George took for granted, more often than not.

Grasping the side rail, George climbed up the railings to stand on the top one. It was dangerous... and it was thrilling. Nothing between him and a drop into the waves but open ocean air. He'd only have to let go. Turning his gaze outward, he watched as the surging of the waves fought with the wake of the ferry. Ultimately, the ocean always won. These man-made waves were weak, easily swallowed in the power of the real thing. And that surging... he could feel it inside himself, too. The power of the primal, the beast, the wild urges fighting to break down the man-made constructions of social niceties, civility and formal education. Nature would win in the end, he knew. He could feel it, just like he could feel each and every one of those waves as it rocked against the ferry.

A hand clutching in his jeans brought his attention back to the here and now. Woof was looking up at him, an expression caught between awe and worry resting uneasily on his face. The older boy often looked at him like that. Wordlessly reaching his free hand down, he tugged at Woof's hand, trying to get him to come up onto the railings next to him.

After a moment's indecision, Woof capitulated and climbed up onto the rung below the top one, trusting like he always did, that George wouldn't let him fall. Once George was sure the other boy had a good grip on the side rail, he let go of his hand. Bad choice. Panic flared in Woof's eyes and he immediately reached down and clutched that hand around the top railing. An awkward position at best, and one in which he could too easily overbalance. That would never do. Reaching down, George took Woof's hand back into his and pulled him back upright. Once the other boy was stable again, he pulled him closer and wrapped that arm around his own waist, then wrapped his arm around Woof's waist in turn. Gratefully, he felt the other boy relax against him. That was better. He might be losing his fight against his own nature, but he could still take care of his friends. He needed Woof to know that. He needed...

A particularly strong wave knocked against the ferry, but George stood firm. Today was for Woof. Today was for Woof. Today was for Woof. It wasn't for him. Today wasn't about what George needed. It was about what Woof needed. And Woof needed him to be strong. So, he would be strong. He would stand fast against the waves for one more day. He would hold them both against the undertow. He would be a pillar. Someday -- someday soon, he thought -- he would get dragged under by this thing, but not today.

Woof tucked his head under George's chin and sighed in contentment, happy and comforted. And feeling the warmth of his friend tucked against him, George also felt himself relax. Turning his gaze back outwards he stared out at the ocean and firmed his resolve. No... not today. Not today at all.

  


* * *

When they got to the beach, Woof was even more like a little kid than he had been on the ferry. He ran here and there on the boardwalk, pointing at people and shops and exclaiming over every little thing. George didn't think he'd ever seen the older boy that excited. When they reached one of the ramps down to the actual beach, Woof looked back at him over his shoulder, hazel eyes shining with joy. George smiled back and gestured broadly that he should head on down.

Once the other boy reached the sand, he paused only long enough to shuck off his jeans and vest before catapulting down towards the water. George snickered, glad that he'd thought to stop at his house to steal a couple of pairs of swim trunks. Otherwise, Woof probably would have taken off everything. Not that _George_ would have minded... but everyone else probably would have been shocked. And the cops tended to frown on that sort of thing. This wasn't that sort of beach and neither of them needed to spend the night in lock-up.

George stripped off his own clothes and gathered up Woof's, rolling them into a bundle and tucking them under his arm. He'd worry about what to do with them when he got closer to the water. It wasn't like he had the money to pay for a locker for the day, anyway. Shrugging off the issue, George resumed his trek. When he reached the shore, it was to see quite an amusing sight. Woof was standing at the edge of the water, taking an occasional step forward then dancing backwards every time a wave crept close to his toes. The look on his face, however, was one of pure delight.

Before George could even consider going over to help, assistance arrived in an unexpected form. A bright-eyed, blonde-haired girl in pigtails and a dark blue bathing suit boldly stepped up to Woof and tapped his elbow. Woof jumped, but quickly calmed when he saw who had touched him -- the girl couldn't be more than ten and was surely no threat. She gestured at the water, then at their feet, then back at the water. George settled down in the sand to watch the pair. Woof was listening attentively and nodded at the end of the explanation. Woof then gingerly held out his hand to the girl. Once she was satisfied, she took a firm grip on Woof's hand and led him into the water.

George couldn't help but laugh at the look of shock on the older boy's face. He knew how cold that water could be this early in the season, but he hadn't thought to warn Woof. Oops. The girl didn't let him backpedal out of the water again, though. She tugged insistently at his arm to pull him further forward, past the first set of breakers. That was the point where George's enjoyment turned to worry. He was pretty sure Woof didn't know how to swim...

Just as he was getting to his feet, however, a soft voice off to his right caught his attention, "Patty's a pretty strong swimmer and she's older than she looks. And she's a junior lifeguard this year. Your friend's in good hands. If I were you, I'd worry more about what someone would do with your clothes if you left them unattended."

George turned, easily distracted by the promise of that husky alto voice. He wasn't disappointed. Long, lean legs met lusciously curvaceous hips at a slim waist, covered in a dusky pink bikini bottom. He raised his eyes a little further only to feel something tap him under the chin and force his gaze upwards past the chest to meet a pair of warm, brown eyes. Those eyes rested above full, rose-colored lips now widened in a knowing smile, "I'm up here, sugar."

Unaccountably, George felt himself blush. Something about this woman's self-assurance was knocking him off his usual game. A laugh rolled from her lips as she shook back her shoulder-length brown hair, "Oh, Georgie, you are priceless. Don't remember me, do you?"

Now feeling thoroughly out-of-sorts and more than a little miffed, George sat back on his heels and frowned, "Clearly you've got me at a disadvantage, sweetheart. You got a name?"

She smirked, "Of course I do, but telling it to you would be cheating, wouldn't it? How about just a first letter?" At the deepening frown on George's face, she let out another of those velvety smooth laughs. Meeting his eyes, she leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "It's 'D.' That help, sugar?"

One of his fractured pieces floated by, luring him with a hint of knowledge. He teased it closer, trying to get a better look. And it was enough. Taking in the woman's appearance one more time, his eyes widened, "Donna! Paul Mitchell's older sister, right?" Mouth dropping open in an aghast expression, he whispered in horror, "Jesus, you used to babysit me! What the hell are you doing here? And in a _bikini_? Shouldn't you cover that thing up?"

Watching him get more and more frantic, Donna just laughed harder, "Oh, Georgie... Just as cute as you ever were. I'm here getting a tan and watching my younger cousin teach your friend to swim. A bikini is appropriate attire for that activity in this location and it's the 60's man -- a girl can wear what she wants."

Still trying to calm the blush, George cleared his throat, "Yeah, I... I guess you're right. None of my business, huh?"

Donna smiled and reached out a hand to pat his cheek, "No harm done. I suppose it's always a little scary to realize that you're now old enough to be attracted to people you once thought of as 'way older than you.' I believe those were your words on the matter, once?"

Blush flaring anew, George shrugged, "What was I, eight, when I said that? Kids are dumb. They're not supposed to know any better."

Donna smiled gently, "No, I suppose they're not." Eyes understanding, she added, "Look, I'll be sitting here for a while, so why don't I watch your clothes so you can join your friend? It looks like he and Patty started a splashing match... and I think she's winning."

Grateful to get out of the awkward situation, George smiled a thank you and did just as suggested. By the time he reached the water, poor Woof was thoroughly water-logged and extremely happy to get the much needed assistance. For a moment, George felt bad about the two of them ganging up on a little kid, but when he saw what a strong swimmer she really was and how much of an advantage that was giving her, his conscience gave up the fight without a qualm. Twenty minutes later, he was also water-logged and they conceded that the match was a draw. His ego didn't much appreciate that, but his roused common sense got the better of it. Probably a good thing.

Patty told George that she was trusting him to look after her new friend and headed back up to the towel to dry off and get a drink. George swam over to where Woof was relaxing back into the gentle swell of the waves and edged himself behind his friend. Woof just smiled and let himself be pulled back to rest against George's chest, head on his friend's shoulder.

George leaned down to plant a soft kiss on his lips, "Good day, Woof?" Nodding vigorously, Woof tucked his face against his friend's neck. George smiled, "I'm glad."

They stayed like that, safely past the breakers and gently drifting in the waves, for another thirty minutes. George then pushed Woof back upright, "Come on, man. I'm starting to wrinkle. We should go dry off."

Woof let out a heavy sigh but acquiesced. George just laughed and poked him in the shoulder, "We can come back, you know. We've got all summer."

Woof just slid him a melancholy smile and started steadily making his way back towards the sand. George didn't like that look, didn't like it when he sensed Woof giving up on something before he'd even tried to fight for it. And that was what this felt like. Woof giving up. Damn it. He followed his friend up out of the water and led him back to their clothes. He'd get to the bottom of whatever was bothering the older boy, somehow. He had faith.

They said their goodbyes to Donna and Patty. George laughed at the thoroughly cornered expression on Woof's face when Patty made him promise to come back tomorrow to play with her again. Since they'd planned to spend the night anyway, it was certainly no skin off George's back to agree, so he didn't interfere. Besides, with any luck, the longer stay and having his friend to himself for an extra day might perk Woof up. George could only hope.

* * *

That night was as peaceful and romantic as George could have hoped. With Woof spooned in front of him, the sand soft underneath them and still warm from the sun of the day, the gentle sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and the softly glowing disc of the full moon illuminating everything overhead, it couldn't have been more perfect. Something about it, about being out here, communing with nature at its most primal... it set his soul at ease. And as he relaxed, he could feel Woof do the same. Maybe... maybe that was all it was. Woof always seemed to pick up on his moods better than any of the others they hung around with and he always seemed to know when George was putting undue pressure on himself, trying to be someone he wasn't.

Pulling the older boy closer to him, George pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Woof smiled and raised one of George's hands to his lips to return to the favor. Quietly, he answered the question that George hadn't yet managed to ask, "Today was good, George. Really good. And this is even better. Having you to myself, again, even if it's only for tonight."

Then he did something unexpected: he pulled away and sat up. George moved to follow, but Woof put a hand on his chest, wordlessly asking him to be still. Since Woof didn't attempt to restrict him like that often, George complied, a bemused expression on his face. Seeing his friend cooperating, Woof offered him a small smile -- that same melancholy one that George _so_ hated to see. Woof threaded one hand through George's hair, twirling it idly as he finally started to speak, "George... you're different, you know?"

George almost did sit up at that, his heart giving a sudden, uncomfortable lurch against his ribcage, "Wh-what do you mean?"

Again that sad smile, "I know you, George Berger, better than you know yourself, I think. I watch you all the time. So, I know. I know you're different." Shifting his hand, he tapped George's forehead, "You're different in here..." He then lowered his hand to splay it over the bare skin of his friend's chest, right over his heart, "And you're different in here. You don't see things the same way everyone else does. I know, because I'm the same. I see things differently, too." Ducking his head shyly, he said, "I guess... I guess I just wanted you to know that you're not alone. I understand you, at least most of the time, I do. And, you don't have to try so hard." George opened his mouth to protest, but Woof shook his head and ran right over him, "Your friends, your _real_ friends, won't love you any less if you're not perfect. And we know how hard it is for you when you try to be perfect. It hurts you. And we don't want you hurt..." Eyes meeting George's for the first time since beginning that little speech, Woof finished with, " _I_ don't want you hurt. OK?"

Extremely humbled by the depth of his friend's feelings and the depth of his understanding, George could only nod. Woof smiled, this time a smile of gentle happiness, "Good. I like you. I'll always like you, no matter who you choose to be. That..." Ducking his head again, Woof's smile took back a touch of that melancholy, "That's all I can be for you, George. I can love you. I can accept you. And for me that's enough. But... I know you need more. You need more than I can give you. And when you find it... I won't love you any less. I just needed you to know that. OK?"

Now the younger boy did sit up, taking Woof's face in his hands and softly brushing some of the sand from his hair. Still shaken by the depth of his friend's insight, he nonetheless managed to give him the answer he needed, "OK, Woof. OK." Placing a gentle kiss on his friend's forehead, George then pulled him close, "But that's tomorrow, Woof. Not today. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Tonight's just for us, just for this. We'll deal with tomorrow tomorrow, OK?"

There was a bit of vehement nodding against his shoulder, a telltale sniffle, and then Woof tucked himself as tightly against his friend as he could. And George, for the life of him, couldn't help feeling that somehow, in some way... the older boy was saying, "Goodbye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof: Ack! O_O That... that wasn't very nice... *whimper*
> 
> Claude: *twitch* _Now_ do you see what I meant?
> 
> Woof: O_O Yeah... I do.
> 
> Claude: *wraps an arm around Woof* But I appreciate you sacrificing yourself for me just the same.
> 
> Woof: *dazed look* Is that what I did?
> 
> Claude: *nods* She's been writing some _major_ angst for me lately as part of another fic... and if she couldn't get Sheila to cooperate with her to finish this one, she was going to work on that one. Naturally, Sheila didn't cooperate, but since you did... she left me alone.
> 
> Woof: O_O Oh... well... then, you're welcome.
> 
> Berger: *twitch* Now, wait just a minute! Why don't _I_ get to cuddle with Claude in this fic?
> 
> Claude: *smirk* 'Cuz I'm not in it.
> 
> Berger: *sigh* Well, that's not a fair excuse. :-P
> 
> Claude: ^_^ Your point?
> 
> Questions, comments, mandragora?
> 
>  _ **Coming Soon:**_ George and Woof find their way back to the Jersey shore and George spends the day struggling to come to terms with who he is... and who he may never be.
> 
>  _*snerts* I just realized that my icon set has one for "high." *giggles* Not that I _am_... but now that I found it, I have to use it!! :D :D :D_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _June 14, 2010:_** And now I give you part 2, where our intrepid couple finds their way back to the beach... and destiny finally reveals its hand. ^_~
> 
> And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

  
**Donna -- Part 2**   
_by[Renee-chan](mailto:chibi1723@hotmail.com)_   


It was almost another three weeks before they managed to get back to the shore as George had been distracted with Jeanie. Unlike most of the others, the free-spirited girl didn't demand much from him. In many ways, she had always been like Woof had tried to tell him _he_ could be that night at the beach -- someone that just accepted George for who he was. She didn't _need_ anything from him. Just for him to be himself. And because she was high so often -- and he was generally the same when around her -- she didn't really remember from one day to the next what he was _supposed_ to be. So, he could try out different parts of himself and see what felt most comfortable and there was never any censure from her. It felt good. It felt _beyond_ good.

And she was just so giving, so comforting... she was like having a living teddy bear that one could drag around with one's self. Maybe that was unfair, thinking of her that way, but George had a feeling that Jeanie wouldn't mind if she knew. She just took everything at face value. Woof liked her, too. They got along like two peas in a pod, those two. Then again, Jeanie looked at the world from a slightly skewed perspective of her own. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was just her own sensitivity, but she always seemed to know what everyone else was feeling. She was like a living mood ring for their little group. In truth, between her and Woof, it was a little creepy sometimes. But she told the _best_ stories.

One night, Berger was sprawled out in the grass, his head resting on her right thigh as he stared up at her, puffing away at a joint they'd been nursing all evening. She'd been telling him a story -- this one about some fairy princess that lived in the moon, of all places -- when she'd abruptly stopped, "You know... you don't look like a George, George."

It was such a non sequitur that, for a moment, George wondered if he'd passed out and missed part of the conversation. Fighting his way back through the haze that was currently fogging his brain, all he could manage in response was, "Huh?"

Jeanie shrugged, completely unconcerned with his confusion, "You know. You don't look like a George. A George is someone whose middle name is responsibility, man. That's not you." She snorted, "That's not _any_ of us. George is uptight and wears perfectly pressed black slacks complete with oxford shirt, tie and polished to a shine shoes. Maybe even a sport coat. He goes to some fancy-shmancy prep school and is heading straight for Harvard or Yale. You're not that guy, George. You're never gonna be him." She shrugged, "I don't know. It just doesn't jive. It screws with your aura, man."

George stared up at her for a minute before reaching a hand up to take back the joint. She seemed to want some kind of response from him, but for the life of him, he didn't know what to say. To buy himself some time, he took a puff of the joint, held it in for one heartbeat... two heartbeats... three... then let it out in a slow spiraling breath. Jeanie laughed in pure delight. Having succeeded in distracting her, George wasn't taking a chance that she'd get back on that uncomfortable topic. Snuffing the joint and tucking it back in his pocket, he reached up for her. She came willingly into his arms, an understanding smile on her face as she indulged him in the first of many long, languorous, haze-filled kisses.

However, long after they were both sated, laying blissfully in Washington Square Park's dew-laden grass, George still couldn't get that conversation out of his head. He'd already changed so much of himself these last two years. His name was one of the few things he had left that connected him to his old life, his parents... his sister. How much more could he change before there was nothing of him left? How much more did he _want_ to change? And just like that, it wasn't fun anymore. Holding Jeanie close to him and fighting off a sudden case of the shakes, George fought with the tears that rose up in his throat. He wasn't ready to give it up. Who he was. Some part of him still wanted to be that perfect son, the reliable older brother... the one who could attract a woman like Donna Mitchell. But as Woof and now Jeanie -- the two people in all his world who saw him most clearly -- had said... he wasn't that guy, would _never_ be that guy. Now the only question that remained was, did he even want to be?

  


* * *

The next morning, he took leave of Jeanie and went after Woof. He was feeling a sudden, intense need to go home and he'd promised the other boy that they'd visit the beach again. Now seemed to be perfect timing. Of course, Woof didn't protest. He was always happy when George sought him out, was beyond happy when he realized they were going off on a solo venture, just the two of them.

The first stop was his parents' house. Only this time, he didn't sneak them in the window of his bedroom to steal swim trunks. This time they went in the front door. His mother was surprised to see him, but shook it off quickly in favor of delight, "George! And you brought a friend with you!" Reaching out a hand to Woof, she turned on her full charm, "Elaine Berger. I'm George's mother. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Woof gingerly shook the offered hand and with a shy smile, answered, "Neil Donovan, ma'am. It's good to meet you, too. George has said some nice things about you."

George stepped out of the way as his mother herded Woof into the house. It was... something just felt wrong. It made him edgy, tense. Why did he feel like this every time he stepped into his own house? A gentle tug on the fringe of his vest brought his attention away from his mother and Woof. Sammy smiled shyly up at him, "Hi, George."

Pulling the twelve-year-old into a tight hug, he smiled, "Hey, squirt. Whatcha been up to?"

She shrugged, fisting her hands in his fringe as she snuggled close, "Just hanging out with my friends, going to the shore. You know. Stuff."

Ruffling her hair gently, George laughed, "Stuff, huh? Hopefully not the kind of 'stuff' that'll get you in trouble...?"

Snorting, she punched him in the side, "Geooorge. I'm not _you_ , you know. _I_ know how to behave. I don't get in trouble."

"By which you mean you just don't get caught, right, squirt?" He then reached out his hands to grab her around the waist and throw her over his shoulder where he had fantastic access to tickle her mercilessly. After a few minutes of her delighted kicking and squealing, he finally let her down again.

Far from being upset, she threw her arms back around him and let out a satisfied sigh, "I've missed you, George. Why don't you come home, anymore? Where do you go? Don't you miss _me_?"

Holding her close, George swallowed hard, "Of course I miss you, Sammy. I just... I have things to do, you know? People who need me. I can't be here all the time." Left unspoken was the thought that being cooped up in this house for the entire summer would likely drive him mad. His sister didn't need to know that.

That was the moment when his mother and Woof reemerged from the kitchen. Woof had a delighted smile on his face and his mother looked extremely pleased. George's heart sank. Elaine smiled at her two children and simply asked, "Samantha, honey, how would you feel about going to the shore with George and Neil instead of me, hmm?"

Samantha let out a breathless squeal of delight and ran over to give her mother a hug, "Oh, mom, _can_ I?"

Staring down at the bouncing 12 year old, George felt a completely irrational desire to yell, "No!" and run screaming from the house. But he didn't. Today... today he was George. Today he was a brother, a son, a friend. Today, he was going to be that person... because he was getting the feeling that that person's days were numbered. So, instead, he pasted a broad grin on his face and said, "Sure. Why not?"

Samantha let out another happy squeal, hugged him, hugged Woof and then ran upstairs to her bedroom to get changed into her bathing suit and beach clothes. Woof just smiled and headed to George's room to go get swim trunks, too. Before George could follow, his mother grabbed his hand. Turning back, he couldn't help but notice the telltale shimmer of tears in her eyes, "George... we _have_ missed you. I know... I know you have other things occupying your mind these days and it _is_ summer... but could you come home a little more often? Please? Your father and I worry about you..."

And there it was again... the _wrong_. It felt like a noose tightening around his neck and it was making it hard to breathe. He wanted to agree, wanted to say "Yes," wanted to promise his mother anything and everything to get that shine out of her eyes... but he couldn't. He couldn't make that promise. He _needed_ to say "No." Before he could open his mouth to do it, however, his mother sadly shook her head, "You don't have to make me promises that you can't keep, George. Just... please try?"

Taking his noncommittal grunt for a positive response, Elaine smiled, "OK, then." She stepped away from him to reach for her purse and pull out some money. Ignoring George's vehement protests, she said, "Enough. You know I'm going to win in the end, so why do you even argue with me?" Faced with that immutable logic, George could only sigh. That caused her smile to widen, "Good. Now, that should be enough to cover a hot dog, fries and sodas for each of you. And while you go get changed, I'll make up a few sandwiches so you'll have something to eat after you let Neil and your sister steal the rest of your food."

He couldn't help snorting out a laugh at that last, "You're the best, mom. Bologna on rye?"

Elaine laughed, "Lettuce, tomato, cucumber, mustard and 'For G-d's sake, hold the mayo!' Right?"

Brushing a kiss against his mother's cheek, he gave her an impish grin, "That's my sandwich!"

Buoyed by that moment of humor, George went to go change into his swim trunks. This time, he actually grabbed towels, sunscreen and a beach bag, too. If he was going to be responsible-older-brother-man, he was going to do it right. It took another half hour to get everyone ready, but George was almost glad of the time to get his head together. Especially as it was now pounding so hard. Damn it. Wrongwrongwrong, again. He sighed. Why couldn't this be easier? Keeping his whimper strictly internal, he bundled up Woof and Samantha and herded them out the door.

  


* * *

By the time they reached the boardwalk, it was clear to see that the place was packed. Now deep into the summer season, the entire population of New Jersey seemed to be there. Woof was awed. Samantha, on the other hand, was not to be denied, "Come on, guys! I know a spot where it's a little emptier. It's about a mile up the boardwalk. Shouldn't take us long to get there. Let's go!"

Wordlessly, they followed along in her wake. And sure enough, she was right. Past the shops, the gaming booths, the food stands and the amusement park rides, it _was_ a little clearer. Making their way down to the sand, they spread out their towels and got out of their clothes. George then got out the sunscreen and, ignoring Samantha's squalling protests, started slathering her up. Once that was done, she immediately yanked the stuff out of his hands to return the favor... and used half the bottle. When she finished, she smiled at her now very white brother, made a pleased noise and took off for the ocean.

Woof just looked up at him and started to laugh. George rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. Real funny. How about you just take the excess off me to use for yourself, huh?" Still laughing, Woof complied. They'd been lucky neither of them had gotten burnt last time they were here, and with Woof's fair skin, George wasn't taking any chances.

Somewhere in the midst of helping Woof lather himself up, George couldn't help but realize something uncomfortable. This skin of responsibility... he'd shucked it off two years ago, but it was settling back around him like it had never left. Some deep, inner part of him was nearly cheering in response. Maybe... maybe he _could_ be this. He could be a George. He could be the responsible brother, the reliable son. He could be a good influence on Woof and Jeanie. He could go to school. He could get good grades and go to college. He could be a lawyer, a doctor... his father would like that, having his son join him in his practice...

But as he allowed each successive thought, he could feel his breath speeding up, his heart starting to pound. Panic... this was panic. Abruptly sitting down, he buried his head between his knees. Woof wrapped an arm around him and made soft shushing noises as he rocked him, "Easy, George... easy. Remember? You don't have to try so hard. You can just be you, right?"

Unsettled and now irritable, George shrugged off Woof's arm and lurched to his feet, "But... how do I know who me _is_ , Woof? Me... 'Me' is _George_. 'Me' is Samantha's older brother. 'Me' is Elaine and Jack Berger's son. 'Me' is your friend. 'Me' is the leader of the Tribe. 'Me' is your lover, Jeanie's lover, everyone's lover. 'Me' is a student... 'Me' is a hippie, a rebel. 'Me'..." Voice choking on a small sob, George sank back to the towels and all but fell into Woof's embrace, "'Me'... doesn't know who he is, anymore."

Woof let George have a few minutes to get himself back together before speaking, "Well... 'Me' likes you, anyway, George. But 'Me' can't answer that question for you. Only you can." Placing a gentle kiss on George's temple, he sighed, "I wish it were different, though. I'm tired of seeing you suffer."

Gingerly wiping his eyes and cursing when he got sunscreen in them, George let out a breath, "Yeah... and I'm getting tired of suffering, too. Believe you me, Woof. I'm pretty damned sick of it." He then rose to his feet and grabbed his wallet, "Why don't you go join Samantha for a while? I'm gonna go head up to the boardwalk and get lunch for us, OK? She'll be hungry when she gets done swimming. She always is."

Recognizing George's need to get away, Woof agreed without fuss. It was quieter down at this end of the beach. Hopefully their stuff would be safe. George climbed back up onto the boardwalk and started the long trek back to the more populated area, mind in a whirl of confusion. Deep in his gut, he knew what the answer was. As Jeanie had said so eloquently, he wasn't a "George". He never would be. But if he wasn't a "George"... who was he?

The empty stretch of boardwalk soon gave way to a few small shops selling towels, trinkets made of seashells, bathing suits, sunscreen, summer dresses, anything one could possibly need while spending the day at the shore. He paused at one of them, browsing idly through a few of the trinkets. He felt like he'd reached this odd point of limbo between his old life and his new one and he was in no hurry to complete the transition.

Moving on to the next shop in the line, he was greatly amused to find the main counter filled with glass pipes of varying colors and functions and there was a bar over the counter from which hung peace signs of every shape and size. Instantly drawn to it, George went inside the store to find the proprietor. He would have thought he'd have remembered a store like this on the boardwalk... but really, would he have thought to look for it before?

He spent the next several minutes talking shop with the owner, delighted to have found such a haven amidst the confusion of the day. Guy was even cool enough to share his joint. George felt a momentary pang for indulging when he was supposed to be "responsible older brother guy," but squashed it. "Responsible older brother guy" needed to loosen up or he was gonna have a stroke. Mind now drifting on a happy little cloud of smoke, George found his eyes drawn to the other counter. There was a wristband sitting there all by its lonesome among a cornucopia of hemp bracelets: soft, supple, dark brown leather. He lifted it off the counter and was pleased to find that it felt as soft as it looked. He couldn't say why he was so drawn to it... except that it had looked so out of place among those ordinary hemp bracelets, one of a kind... and something that "George" would shy away from. This whole _store_ was something "George" wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole... yet he felt so comfortable here, it was like coming home.

With a lump in his throat, he queried after the price. High on his own haze of smoke and affected, himself, by how affected George was, the proprietor just smiled and snapped the wristband around George's left wrist, "For you, man? Today? Consider it a gift." Before George could even protest, the man shook his head, then pulled George closer and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, "For the journey, man. To keep you grounded." Then with a wicked smile, he waved George on his way, "Catch you on the flip side, brother."

As he left the store, George found himself gently rubbing the leather band on his wrist. It felt so right... just sitting there, sun-warmed leather against his skin. Even though the rest of him almost fit in with the parade of other bodies on the boardwalk, this marked him as unique. "George" wouldn't wear something like it. As the smoke haze started to clear, his mind settled back into its earlier state of confusion. That store... he'd understood something important while he'd been in there. He knew he had. But with the haze, that revelation was also fading. He was almost tempted to go back and beg another drag, but if there was one thing George Berger _didn't_ do, it was beg.

By the time he reached the hot dog stand, he still hadn't come any closer to an answer. It was enough to make him want to pull out his hair in frustration. Why he thought he'd reach an answer today, he didn't really know. What he _did_ know, though, was that he was running out of time. He was reaching a breaking point of sorts and if he didn't make a decision soon, the decision would make him... or worse, it would break him. He didn't want that. If he was going to lose himself, he wanted to do it on his own terms. He wanted it to be his own choice. And he wanted to have a say in who he would become. He didn't want to just get swallowed up by the waves. He couldn't be that passive.

It was with an irritated scowl that he realized that what he had _thought_ was the line to the hot dog stand was actually anything but. There was a cluster of people along the railing, blocking his way to the cart. Annoyed by the unnecessary delay, George started pushing his way through the crowd. Good grief, there were a lot of them... and every one of them perfectly processed, neat as a pin, clean cut prep school boys. They were "Georges." That thought brought him up short. These... these were "Georges". Staring around at the sea of young men, his heart tripped into a rabbit-fast beat. These... they were built to be "responsible older brother guy." You could see it stamped across each of their faces.

And there was **nothing** of him in _any_ of them.

That thought floored him. He had absolutely nothing in common with these boys. **Nothing**. How could he? They were nothing like him. They'd grow up, get married, buy houses, have kids, get a dog... probably all not more than a stone's throw from where they were born. Maybe one or two of them would do something more with their lives -- become politicians, soldiers, doctors, lawyers... whatever. And they'd be thrilled to do it. The stark contrast was overwhelming and George couldn't stand another minute of having that truth shoved in his face.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he desperately tried to find the other end. Just when he thought he'd reached it, however, a small hand on his bare wrist brought him up short. The small voice accompanying it asked in an excited whisper, "George? Is that you? Did you bring Neil with you?"

For a moment, he felt a rush of blinding panic. _George... is that me? I don't know anymore... Who the hell **am** I, anyway?_ Then he understood. Looking down into a pair of earnest bright blue eyes attached to a head of blond pigtails, he finally made the connection, "Patty...? Yeah, Neil's here, but he's down in the ocean with my sister somewhere. Is Donna with you?"

Delighted to be remembered, the girl shook her head, "No, not this time. I came down with _my_ sister -- the one who's going to college here in the fall." Making a face she added, "But we haven't even made it down onto the sand yet." She sighed, "We go through this stuff every time we go somewhere together. I'll tell you, George, I really love her, but she is a pain in my neck!"

George felt his eyebrow climbing in spite of himself. Waving around at all the drone-boys, he said, "You mean she's responsible for all this? Who the hell is she? The Queen of England?"

Patty snorted, "Yeah, right. More like Joan of Arc." Then tugging lightly at his hand, she said, "Come on, I'll introduce you."

As she pulled him effortlessly back through the crowd, George had to laugh at her technique. In their wake, they left more than a few of the boys hopping on one foot and wincing. He'd have to remember that trick next time he needed to get through a crush of people -- step on enough toes and the rest get out of your way.

And then the crowd opened up. For a moment, George thought he was sun-dazzled, or still drifting on that smoke-cloud. For in front of him was a vision better and more beautiful than any drug trip he'd ever taken. In spite of himself, he found his eyes starting at her feet and traveling up. She had on a pair of leather sandals, delicate things, almost no better than being barefoot. He liked that. Slim calves, but trim, muscular -- she probably did a lot of walking. He liked that, too. Starting just above her knees, her body was clad in a lacy, white sundress. It was loose and flowing, but clung just enough in all the right places to show off a figure just as slim and trim as her legs. And thanks to the breeze, he could also tell she wasn't wearing a bra underneath it. He _really_ liked that. Forcing his gaze upwards, he noted the long stretch of her neck, around which hung a wooden peace sign, huge and proud and solid. Traveling further upwards, he saw a strong chin in a heart shaped face, rosy, high cheekbones, full, luscious lips and a mass of feathered, unbound, sun-blond hair. And the piece de resistance... a pair of the most piercingly clear ice-blue eyes he'd ever seen. When they locked on his, the entire rest of the crowd melted away.

There was such passion, such fire in those eyes... such certainty. This was a girl-- no. This was a **woman** who knew exactly who she was and exactly what she wanted from life. She was strong, solid... a rock. She could be a shelter, someone he could lean on... someone who could take this burden of responsibility off his shoulders. And, oh... the blazing heat of that gaze... Suddenly, George couldn't help but remember that the fire that burns the hottest is always blue.

Drawn in by that gaze, unable to even look away, he came forward. He heard Patty's introduction out of one ear, but couldn't even make out the words. The woman in front of him filled his vision, his hearing, his every sense. And, amazingly enough... she seemed just as taken in by him. What he could possibly be, what he could possibly have done, to earn that attraction, he hadn't a clue. Whatever it was, she clearly saw something in him that she liked... something she didn't see in the veritable ocean of clean-cut boys around her. _She_ didn't want to grow up, marry, have a house bought for her to clean and raise children in. Her passion, her strength... they were for something better. Something more. And, oh _G-d_ , how he wanted to be along for that ride!

Stepping up to her so their bodies were separated by mere inches of air, George offered her a beaming smile. Her own lips twitched in response, then widened into a beaming smile of their own. Then she spoke. And her voice... oh, her voice was like rich velvet. George immediately wanted to roll himself up in it. But there would be time for that... as much time as he wanted. For now, he just did his best to focus on her words. And what she said was, "Hi. My sister spoke rather highly of you and your friend last time we were here. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm Sheila. Sheila Franklin."

And there they were. George could feel it... the edge of the precipice under his feet. He could be George for her, for now... he could try. He could be "responsible older brother guy." He could try to take care of her... but in the end, he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain that. Jeanie and Woof were right. He wasn't that guy. And today had shown him that in bright, Technicolor clarity. He would _never_ be that guy... and he didn't want to be. And somehow, he knew that for Sheila... that would be all right. She didn't want a guy to protect her -- she could take care of herself just fine. She didn't want a clean-cut, prep school boy. She wanted something different... some _one_ different. Well... he could be different. He _was_ different. And he wasn't a George.

Smile widening as something finally settled into place deep within him, he finally let go of the past. And, in that moment... George died, quietly, with no fuss... not even a whimper. Sliding a hand around Sheila's waist and pulling her flush up against him, he placed a gentle kiss on each of her cheekbones, "Hey, Sheila. Nice to meet you, too. I'm George Berger... but I don't dig George so much. Berger will do just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Woof: Well... I guess that wasn't so bad...
> 
> Berger: *busy with Sheila off in the corner*
> 
> Sheila: *voice drifts back* Are you sure this is _legal_?? *gasp* Oh... never mind... I suddenly don't care... *_*
> 
> Claude: *pout*
> 
> R-chan: *twitch* This is the after-fic silliness, you know. You _could_ go join them...
> 
> Claude: ^_________________________^ *wanders off to join Berger and Sheila in the corner*
> 
> Woof: ;_; But... But I thought you _liked_ me!
> 
> R-chan: *cuddles the Woof* I do! Woof, I do! O_O Trust me, you have a happy ending coming your way, too.
> 
> Woof: *sniffles* Promise?
> 
> R-chan: *rae* Do I lie about these things?
> 
> Woof: O_O *shakes head* No, ma'am.
> 
> R-chan: *pleased smile* *patpats the Woof* Good. At least _one_ of you trusts me. *glares in Claude's direction*
> 
> Claude: A-choo!!
> 
> Berger/Sheila: O_O *twitch* Not gonna ask...
> 
> Questions, comments, piney apples?
> 
> What? I've been playing .hack infection lately. So sue me. ^_^


End file.
